Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

    Her opponents can hear the old Inkantation blasting in her headphones as she approaches, but by then, it's too late to retaliate. She pulls the trigger and after a sharp *ping* her two targets are felled in one purple blast. She doesn't smile or celebrate or frown, she simply continues pushing forward. This is turf war, the objective is to claim the most territory, and she will complete that objective. Of course, this isn't a serious war, she's not fighting in the Great Turf War. This is a harmless replica of that war made for fun and a source of income for hopeful squid kids and octolings. She was having fun, but she takes her fun a bit too seriously. She's trying her best not to.

    That's why the octoshot that ended TarTar and Order stays locked in a closet in her apartment. That's why she wears a colorful sweater, bright pink shoes, and bright red headphones to every match as opposed to the armor, combat boots, and goggles that would suit her better. That's why she only listens to The Squidsisters or Off the Hook as she fights the turf war: one reminds her of her freedom, the other reminds her of her friends. That's why former Agent 8 of the New Squidbeak Splatoon has retired, content to live casually, play casual matches, and surround herself with casual things. However, despite the conscious effort she makes to be casual, she's dedicated to completing the tasks assigned to her, and that determination makes her a frightening foe on the battlefield. No matter how friendly she tries to look, she can't shake the training she's had, nor the skills she's learned. 

   Time flies as she gets closer and closer to the enemy's spawn, taking splat after splat, gaining more and more ground. She can taste victory, she grins at the thought of it. Once she's completed this station, she can move on to the next. 

...

.......

"......Station?" 

...

    She freezes for a moment. She knows this isn't a station. She knows she already made it to the promised land, she knows that she's no longer deep underground, but she feels that teal bomb strapped to her back. She has to check, she has to know. Where's the cucumber? What actually happens when the timer runs out? Is it beeping? She hears it beeping. It's going to-

*SPLAT* 

"Carp", she thinks as she respawns, "I lost focus. That guy with the carbon roller is such a coward. At least they can't win now, there's only 10 seconds left." 

    But, as she looks out from her spawn, she realizes how wrong she is. An octoling with an aerospray slipped past her front running rampage, and, aparrently, the rest of her team couldn't handle it. The only purple ink among the sea of green is the space she'd inked before she was splatted. 

    "Sorry Fizz!" A rather expressive inkling mumbles and pouts, looking down at her splattershot, "I tried to hold them off as best as I could, but they were super fast! Their running speed was off the charts!" 

"It's alright, Coral. Stuff like that happens. We get paid either way!" Fissure replies. 

"Albeit WAY less," she adds in her head. "I still don't have enough for new dulies. 

"Yeah!" Coral's mood changed instantly, "And you were MVP again!" Coral's eyes sparkled with admiration. 

"Yeah, with a blaster, in turf war, not a good thing." Fissure points out 

    Fissure's friend and lobby buddy Coral was new to Splatsville, and had to compete in matches to get the new gear she wanted. Fissure was in a similar situation, having only recently moved to the area. The difference was that Fissure had previous experience in turf war, while Coral...

"Wait, really?  But aren't all weapons meant for turf war?" Coral asks, tilting her head with confusion. 

    Fissure smiles slightly, happy to explain, "Every weapon has a role that suits it in matches. Blasters, Chargers, and Splatanas are better suited for quick, devastating blows on opponents that immediately splat them. They pressure the enemy into focusing on them while a Splattershot, roller, slosher or specific stringer inks turf. Ideally, a blaster or charger would have tons of splats, but not as much turf inked as a splattershot or roller and thus never be MVP in a turf war. Other types of matches is a diffrent story." 

"What about the dulies I want? What are they supposed to do?" 

    "For dulies, it depends on the user. A lot of people only front run with them, trying to quickly overwhelm their opponent with fire power and speed, but they also ink turf pretty well, not as well as a splattershot or roller but better than some sloshers and way better than Chargers or blasters. There are other weapons like that, so  I recommend figuring out what you prefer to do during turf war and then go about acquiring weapons accordingly." 

Coral listens intently, nodding her head as she takes note of what to look for. "Thanks Fizz! This is SO helpful." 

"It's no problem at all," Fizz asserts, then stands up to leave. "I need to get going. Same time tomorrow?" 

"Bet! I'll see you tomorrow!" Coral nearly yells as Fissure walks away. 

Fissure smiles to herself, "I never thought I'd be teaching someone the way they taught me. Oh! I should call when I get back home. Hopefully they can answer this time." 

   Fissure walks into her apartment, tired, but satisfied with her day. The place is very nice. Fissure thinks its too big for her, but Pearl wouldn't let her have anything smaller than this. To her right is a short hallway to her half bathroom for guests. To her immediate left on the same wall as the door is her little kitchen, a small electric stove splitting the counter in half and an oven beneath it. Two cabinets with snacks, seasonings, and ingredients sit above the counter, a microwave separating them. Across from the kitchen in the middle of the apartment is a little living area with one small sofa facing the TV on the wall across from the entry door. To the right of the living area is the door to her bedroom, her bathroom with a shower and bathtub inside the same area. Some cereal was left out from this morning, the box still sitting on her round, wooden table surrounded by 4 wooden chairs that sits next to the window on the left most wall. She never has guests over to sit around it. 

Well, she did once, when her friends bought the place for her. 

"C'mon 'Rina! Eig- I mean Fizz deserves a penthouse! Talk some sense into her!" 

"Pearl, she said she wanted something small and close to the train station so she can visit us when we're not busy! You don't want to go against her wishes do you? 

"Well- I-I'm sure there's a small penthouse nearby we can look at!" 

"Pearl, no. She said this was perfect!" 

"At least let her LOOK for a penthouse? Please??" 

*sigh* "What do you want to do Fissure?" 

    Fissure, formerly Agent Eight of the New Squidbeak Splatoon told them she wanted to live here. She'd spent almost a year recovering from the Deep Sea Metro with Pearl and Marina  by her side. Going on Tour with them and surrounding herself with music helped her find some peace and choose her new name. It was hard, she'd only ever been an agent, and before that, in the realm of things she couldn't fully remember, she was a soldier in DJ Octavio's army. Violence seemed more natural to her than smiling, but, luckily, she had Marina there who'd gone through the same thing and Pearl who's care for her friends was unconditional and fierce. It was Marina that suggested her choosing a new name, a new identity for herself, and Pearl that enforced it everytime Cap'n Cuttlefish forgot when he called to make sure she hadn't "relasped" and returned to Octavio. She's called them a few times. Originally, they'd set up a day to call each week, but life wouldn't allow any of them the time, so Fissure calls when she's free at once a week. Even if they don't pick up, she leaves a message and even if she doesn't pick up, they do the same. 

    She sits down on at the table they got for her on the chair furthest from the kitchen counter; It's the same spot she always sits. 

"The next time we visit, we'll sit in these exact same spots, that way it'll feel like we never left!" Marina had said. 

    She sat there when she wanted to call them, to feel like they were really sitting there with her. She understood that they have their own lives, and she definitely wanted to live on her own, but sometimes, she missed them. That's when she'd call. 

*ring*

*ring*

*ring*

.....

"You've reached Marina of Off The Hook. I can't answer the phone right now, as I'm likely out DJ-ing. Leave a message and I'll return your call at my earliest convenience. Sorry I missed you!" 

*beep* 

"Hi Marina! It's Fissure! I know you're busy, I just wanted to update you with how I'm doing." 

And she did just that. She told her about Coral, her qualms with certain matches, her excitement with others. She smiled as she explained how she taught Coral about weapons in matches the same way Marina had and how it reminded her to call today. She said she missed them, wished them well on their work, and hung up. 

She then called Pearl, and did the same thing. 

    After she was done, she stayed there for a moment. She hoped that maybe, just maybe, they were on their way to visit, that they didn't have a concert, or event to host in Inkopolis Square, and that they were finally able to see her. She hadn't told them about her panic during her  last match today over the phone, nor the last few freezes she had, or the nightmares she had about a place she couldn't recognize, but she knew she needed to. 

"When they visit, I'll tell them everything. There's too much to dump over the phone now." 

    And for a moment, she thinks her prayers have been answered because seconds after that thought, there's a knock on the door. 

Chapter Text

    "Is it Pearl and Marina? Maybe I left something and Coral brought it here? It could just be a neighbor asking for something? 

    Fissure walks up to the door and looks through the peep hole. She's shocked when she see an inkling boy standing there. One of his eyes is gray, the other a sickly teal left as a remnant of TarTar's sanitation. His skin is incredibly pale, his hair is blue and put up in a bun. He's wearing a yellow jacket, casual at first glance, but the insignia of the New Squidbeak Splatoon is on the button at the top of the collar. She recognizes him and her heart drops. 

"What could he want? How did he find me? Maybe I can act like I'm not home." 

"Eight?" He calls from outside the door. 

Her eye twitches, "Oh, so you can find out where I live but not what my name is." 

"Eight, I can see your shadow at the door. Will you please let me in?"

She hesitates, then speaks, "That's not my name Three." 

"That isn't my name either. Can I please talk to you?" 

"As agents or ...acquaintances?" She asks. She doesn't say friends, they've barely interacted. 

"......Work acquaintances," he responds. 

Just say agents then, you little- ," Then no. I'm not 'employed' at the 'company' anymore."

"If that's the case, would you be willing to assist someone who's still employed with some work regarding your former boss at our rival company?" 

She froze. He couldn't be talking about Octavio. "I thought he was dealt with." 

"Far from it. Will you let me in? It's better to discuss things in private." 

Well, she couldn't deny him now, not since...

She opens the door. 

   They sit across from each other at her table near the window. Agent 3 drinks the soda she offered him from her fridge. He sets it down and looks at her, expression neutral, eyes focused. Fissure got serious whenever she fought, but Agent 3, who she's learned is actually named Fin, is serious in every interaction. It's a bit off putting. 

...

...

Silence. 

....

.......

She speaks first. 

"How did you-" 

"Marina. I asked her a couple weeks ago." 

"...But how did you-"

"I have a friend that lives in this building. I saw him before I came to talk to you." 

"Then why didn't-" 

"I figured calling you 'Eight' would annoy you enough to talk to me. I understand you are done with being an agent?" 

She sighs. "Yes, so why are you here? I'm not interested if this is a mission." 

He frowns a bit, but explains, "Octolings have started to disappear from Inkopolis Plaza, and Inkopolis Square. They vanish without a trace." 

Fissure's eyes widen. "That's incredibly concerning." 

He continues, "There's never any sign of a struggle, no messages, no calls, no overly dramatic letters, they just disappear. Their phones are left behind, deliberately it seems, and they take nothing with them other than the clothes on their back and the last weapon they used in a match." 

"So, they're disappearing immediately after matches?" Fissure questions, invested. 

"They could be. They also might be doing all these steps separately. Some witnesses have claimed to see the missing octolings head home or go get something to eat after their last match of the day." 

"You think Octavio is behind this?" 

"I'm ninety percent sure it's him. Between the Inkantation freeing octolings from his control, TarTar's sanitization, and our recent problem with Mr. Grizz, he's lost the majority of his army. I bet he's trying to build it back up." 

"Oh Lord, I do not want to know. I knew that guy was shady!"

"Where's the other ten percent of certainty?" 

"None of the octolings have worn glasses or goggles of any kind, and that's how he usually controls them. Not to mention, the majority of them have heard the Inkantation before, reversing the effects without the goggles should be impossible." 

He's right. Marina even tested it. She didn't dream of returning to the canyon until she put her goggles back on for the experiment. She had to listen to Calamari Inkantation a few times before she stopped trying to leave. 

"And why are you asking me? You know I don't remember much past the metro." 

He hesitates before responding, "You weren't wearing the goggles when you attacked me before." 

    Her jaw dropped. This was news to her. Cap'n Cuttlefish never mentioned any of that to her, but it's likely he forgot. The only other person present before they fell into the Metro was Fin. She had to take his word for it. 

Fin leans over the table a little, hopeful he'll learn something. "Are you sure you remember nothing? Nothing Octavio did while you were under his control?" 

She looks down at the table, "No. It all evades me, and I haven't tried anything to jog my memory since the incident in Inkopolis Square." 

He looks confused. "What happened there?" 

    She explains how Marina had been trying to help those that has been sanitized or imprisoned by the Deep Sea Metro regain their memories fully. She'd created the AI, Order, to do that, but it went haywire with Marina's desire to have things in perfect order and started imprisoning people in the virtual spire that was supposed to act as a catalyst for memory regeneration. Fissure had been the one to stop it, but that meant giving up on her memories from the past. 

Well, it should've meant that.

"I see," Fin thought, his chin getting pinched between his thumb and pointer finger, "and Order's original programming didn't work at all?" 

"Not to my knowledge." She replies, looking back up to him. 

But that wasn't true 

   After the Order Incident, Fissure started having nightmares. At first, they were about the metro the bomb on her back, the blender she was in, what sanitization would've felt like. Then the dreams shifted. Sometimes it was that train, sometimes it was a forest, the forest before the train. She would be walking through it, but she couldn't control her body. Then things got fuzzy and she was somewhere full of metal and red-lights. She heard an old language she used to understand, she saw someone strapped to a chair of some sort, something would be happening to them, and then she woke up. 

She knows instinctively that it has something to do with the disappearing octolings, but she wants to keep it quiet. She knows if she tells him what she's been seeing, she'll have to help on this mission, but she's done being an agent, done being a soldier, done fighting for a world that expects so much from their agents while they receive so little. She's in a new place, with a new apartment, a new friend, and new freedom. Her old jobs have nothing to do with it, so she'll let him believe that she knows nothing. She's sure he'll find out how to stop it regardless. 

    Fin studies her for a moment, squinting his eyes. She's sure he's seen through her lie, but he relents and starts to get up. "Well, I have to go. I have another lead to pursue. Thank you for your time and that soda. Where did you get it?" 

    Fissure smiles, relieved to have fooled him and to discuss something else, "The vending machine next to the lockers in Splatsville's tower. They've got a good selection of drinks." 

"I'll keep that in mind the next time I'm around." He walks to the door and opens it, using his free hand to wave at her without looking. "See you later, Fissure." 

"See ya, Fin!" 

   "Ugh. What a day!" Fissure groans as she finally lays down in bed. It was a longer day than anticipated, and to her chagrin, the disappearing octolings are still on her mind. It's bad if they've returned to Octavio willingly, but if he has some remote way of controlling them that's even more concerning. Perhaps she was wrong to leave Fin completely in the dark, but how else would she stay out of it? Besides, he's smart and capable enough to find it out on his own, he already has another lead! 

Fissure sighs and grabs her phone from the night stand. Best not to dwell on it too much.

"I haven't scrolled in a minute, I wonder what's new?" 

  Most of her For You page on Squidstagram is music related, courtesy of Pearl making sure she knew everything, "from the classics to the new blood!" She'd said. There's plenty of ads for concert tickets, Off the Hook rumours she laughs at everytime she sees them, a "Why the Squid Squad is actually on a break" video, and tons of videos about newly released songs she'll add to her playlist eventually. She starts to watch one about Deep Cuts newest song. She's not the biggest fan of their music, but sometimes they'll put out something she likes. Right after she clicks on the video, it buffers and her phone shuts off. 

Weird, I thought it was at fifty percent. Maybe I read it wrong. 

She sets her phone back on her nightstand and puts it on the charger. She rolls over and starts falling asleep. 

    Before she can drift off fully, music starts to play from her phone. She assumes it's the song she was trying to listen to earlier and lets it play. The beat is nice, if a bit more mechanical than what Deep Cut normally produces. She braces herself for Fyre's rapping or Shiver's Harsh, yet somehow melodious voice.

Instead, she hears a language she used to understand and a voice all too familiar to her.

She opens her eyes, shocked at the sound. She turns around and jumps out of bed to grab her phone. 

Turn it off! Turn if off! 

But just as she's about to do it, her arm goes limp and the phone falls out of her hand. 

The rest of her body follows like dominoes: her other arm goes numb, her knees buckle, her legs refuse to hold her up as she falls to the floor. She tries to squirm towards the phone and stop it from playing the song. She swears it's getting louder. She can't move, she can't turn it off, she wants it to stop

She tries to scream stop

Even her mouth won't move. 

The only things she can move are her eyes, and they still stubbornly choose to fixate on that phone and on the red, swirly screen it now displays along with this harsh yet familiar music. It hurts her ears, her eyes are on fire, but she listens and looks. 

She now understands the language. She recognizes the voice. 

Wake from the dream

Forget that groovy song

 Break apart the seam

That closed your mind for so long

Return from whence you came

Bring the knowledge you have gained

The glory they've attained

Will be ours to claim. 

...

....

She's understood the language. 

.....

........

She's recognized the voice.

................

.......................

...........................

She heeds the command. 

Chapter Text

 He sits on the train late at night, silent and contemplative. It'll be morning by the time he returns to Splatsville, albeit the dark hours of the day. His heroshot sits concealed beneath his jacket; he believes he'll need it. He's on his way to Inkopolis Square, where one of his agents apprehended an octoling that seemed out of it. He's on his way back from a confrontation, one that he'd hoped would change her mind. Unfortunately, it didn't. 

   She was lying, he thinks, but if I'd pushed her, I wouldn't've gained anything. Maybe I should've acted more like a friend...

    The past month has been more than problematic for Fin, the newly named Captain of the New Squidbeak Splatoon. The start of the month and the three weeks before it had been nice, a good break after dealing with Mr. Grizz and his attempt to turn the world into a mammalian "utopia" once again. He didn't even have to do much: a new squid kid stumbled upon their situation and didn't jump back out immediately, so he was named the new Agent 3 and he did most of the heavy lifting. With his smallfry by their side, it wasn't too much of a problem.

    He thought that'd be the end of it. He was far from ready to take a protege yet and would just keep the kid updated on the rest of the clean up, but the kid came to him first, saying his friend had gone missing. Fin was confused as to why he'd come to him about this until Agent Three confessed that the friend wasn't the first to dissappear. 

    The New Agent Three's friend had been one of many strange disappearances happening in Inkopolis. His friend lived in the Plaza where several octolings had disappeared: no inklings, only octolings. Many thought there was a serial killer or kidnapper on the loose, so octolings had started staying home out of fear. Even the most paranoid octolings with the craziest of defenses ended up going missing soon after. It was strange, and the phenomenon moved to Inkopolis Square a week after Agent Three told Fin.

    The captain figured this was Octavio's doing since his army had become significantly smaller over the years, and getting it back would be his first step towards revenge. That's when Fin called Marina. If there's anyone Octavio needs to get back, it's his inventor: that much was clear after his sorry show of force to Agent 3 when he first descended below Splatsville. If Octavio got a hold of Marina, he would have a massive advantage over the Splatoon in weaponry. After hearing the situation, Marina, thanked him for telling her and immediately thought of Ei- er, um, Fissure. 

"Please go check on her? Pearl and I are so overbooked it's crazy! We're thinking of firing our new manager, it's getting ridiculous." 

"Yeah!", an eavesdropping Pearl butted in, "This son of a..." She paused: Marina was likely giving her a look, " ...Very nice lady... who gave birth to a piece of carp needs to go! Make sure Fizz is straight for us, but don't go dragging her into no mission stuff. She ain't gonna hear it! Got it, Cap'n?" 

    He figured he could get some information out of her while warning her about the disappearances at the same time. He wasn't as interested in checking in on her, and he wanted to see what he could come up with without involving her, so he did some more investigating before going to see her. 

And of course, when he did see her, she'd been unhelpful. 

Not only that, she'd lied to him. 

    If she truly knew nothing, why did she let him in after mentioning Octavio? Why did she avoid looking at him when she said she didn't have any memory of her time before the Metro? Why did she show interest in the missing octolings? It couldn't just be kinship and compassion. If it was, she would've dropped the whole 'I don't want to be an agent' thing and helped out. 

    He sighs. It's the first sound to leave his mouth since he left her apartment. He hadn't realized he was holding his breath; the stress must be getting to him.

She would've been the best active agent for this. 

  He knows her strengths and weaknesses well; he watched her skills get broken down and redeveloped in the Metro from afar while he was posing as an employee of Kamabo co. The girl can pick up any weapon and adapt it to any situation, she's well aware of when to be relentless in her pursuit and when to be patient and calculative. She's found some of the most creative solutions to weaponry limitations he's ever seen. She's seen more action than both new agents combined, and, if she has even the slightest hint of where to look for the missing octolings, she can be a decent guide. 

    But she isn't interested in being an agent anymore, and deep down he can't blame her. 

    Even his training, as difficult as it was, wasn't anywhere near as torturous as the Metro. He lost count of how many times he'd heard "Mission Failed" and seen her brace for the impact of that bomb strapped to her back, lost count of the amount of credits she owed Marina by the end of it, lost count of how many times she reentered the same station dozens of times for the chance recovering a sliver of her memories, lost count of the number of times she just sat outside the gate of a station, steeling her resolve to continue. 

    He lost count of number of times he nearly jumped into the station, far ahead of the right time, and tried to beat the bosses for her, having seen their patterns before.

    When he initially realized where she was and what would happen he thought, good riddance, one less nuisance, she had attacked him after all, but after watching everything, seeing how she treated Pearl and Marina and Cap'n, seeing her determination to remember as much as possible, seeing her hope when the promised land was mentioned, he found himself rooting for her. Thanks to his intervention destroying the blender she'd been shoved in for all her hard work, she was able to continue, and thanks to her, TarTar didn't destroy all of Inkopolis. 

    And thanks to her, he escaped with his mind intact, no proof of the incident other than his sanitized right eye. 

   In truth, he owes her more than she owes him, and on top of everything else she's endured, she'd nearly lost Marina to something Marina chose to build to help her. Fissure has every right to avoid this, every right to say no to this fight.

....

So why do I get the feeling she shouldn't?

    He arrives on the scene in Inkopolis Square. Agent Four has already payed off Murch to let them hide out with the octoling she caught in his alley. 

The Deep Sea Metro entrance, he thought to himself. How ironic.  

    In the alley next to the Deep Sea Metro's entrance is a casually dressed inkling with bobbed tentacles. She has a pair of hero dulies resting on her hips, readily available in case things went wrong. She wears a skirt with shorts, a tang top, tennis shoes, and a visor. She seemed to be very interested in something hidden behind a wall. She should be paying attention to the octoling beside her who wears sweatpants, a jacket, and combat boots the captain recognizes, but he stares blankly at the ground in front of his feet. Clearly, he's not a threat at the moment. 

Agent Four looks up when she hears the captain approach and smiles. 

"Good evening, Captain!" The agent says, cheerfully. 

"Report." He replies coldly. 

"Geez, so serious! Are you sure you're fresher than me?" 

    He stares pointedly, refusing to entertain that challenge. Agent Four clears her throat and starts to explain. 

"I was patrolling tonight, looking for anyone suspicious, and right when I was about to turn in for the night, I found this guy." She gestures towards the octoling, sitting on the floor and staring straight ahead. His hair is purple, but the tips have turned a familiar fuschia. His eyes don't have any discoloration, but they look distant: his mind is elsewhere. 

"He had this in his hands, open carrying it." She takes out a charger from behind a wall, "It's a Firefin model, nothing out of the ordinary. After some analysis, I can tell it was used recently which that checks out with what you told me about the victims. When he noticed me, he started chatging a shot. I was able to disarm him before he could do anything with it, so the analysis is sound." Four proudly claimed. She's the resident weapons expert, having worked closely with Sheldon during her time in Octo Canyon. The time also made her a bit of an enthusiast, not on Sheldon's level, but still fanatic at times. 

Seems straight forward, the captain thinks. "Has he said anything?" 

"He mumbled a bit when I caught him."

"What was he saying, could you catch it?" 

"Umm," she thinks, tapping her right pointer finger on her left arm, "something about sewing? I heard him say seam. Though, I suppose he could've been saying 'seems', as in 'it seems like.' Ooh! Or 'seen' like 'oh no, I've been seen!'"

She looks at the captain who's raised his eyebrow and crossed his arms in the time it took her to essentially say she didn't know.

She shoots him an exasperated look in return, "Oh, come on! You try listening to some guy mumble in another language! Did Callie teach you any Octolese?" 

"It's not that different from Inklan; they have the same roots. Did you play the incantation?" 

    Her face shifts from exasperated to dejected. "I did, I played it  the whole time it took for your to arrive." 

What? That's nearly thirty minutes. 

"It did nothing?" He questions. 

"It stopped the mumbling..." She offers. 

   This is bad. If this is Octavio's doing, then that means he's created something more powerful than the Calamari Inkantation, something that could ensnare anyone from the core of their soul, octoling or not. 

"Why aren't we meeting at our base in Octo Canyon?" 

"I found him staring at the grate. He was about to jump in." 

"So they are returning to Octavio." 

"Seems like it, but I did a patrol of the Canyon during the day and there was even less activity than usual. Octavio's not there." 

    Fin frowns. Agent Three said the same thing about Octo Valley. This isn't adding up. He isn't in any previously discovered stronghold, and they would've found him under splatsville with the constant clean up operation. Where could he be?

    The captain's frown doesn't fade, if anything it gets harsher, but he softens it a bit when addressing Agent 4 again. "Thanks for the report. I have a lot to think about. I'll report back to you once I have a plan." 

"Sure! What will we do with him?" 

"Hm, bring him to a hospital, and see if they can do anything about him. They'll also do a good job of making sure he stays put. Tell them you saw him walking alone and wanted to make sure he was okay with all the disappearances happening.

"Okie Dokie!" Agent 4 beams, "Anything else Cap'n?" 

"That's all. Keep patrolling. Let me know if you find anything else." 

Agent 4 salutes him as he walks away, then takes a look at the Firefin charger the octoling had. 

"It couldn't hurt to add one more to my collection, he he he!" 

   Fin walks through Splatsville after returning from Inkopolis Square. It's two in the morning according to his phone. He plans on heading back underground tonight to keep cleaning up the remnants of Mr. Grizz's influence. Unfortunately, getting all that fur infused ink to permanently disintegrate was a bit of the issue. The ink was fine, but the fur just stayed and got stuck on everything. 

Stupid bear. Why'd it have to be fur?

    Right before he enters the grate, he hears the telltale sound of the Splatville Tower door opening. 

"That's strange. Who's up this late? Is it another octoling?" 

Fin peeks his head out from the corner, trying to catch a glimpse of the person leaving. 

He recognizes the sound of her combat boots before he sees her. 

Out at night.

Alone. 

    She walks down the stairs and into view, he sees her wearing her octoling boots, her leggings, an oversized sweater, and red headphones. She looks incredibly unassuming, even with the boots on, but he sees the fuschia, octarian ink that gives her away. There's a standard blaster held firmly in her hand

She's walking towards the grate now.

She's walking towards him now. 

...

He knows what he must do. 

He walks from around the corner, his hero shot in hand. 

She pauses for a moment when she sees him, a glimmer of recognition in her distant eyes. 

It's gone as soon as it appears.

She raises her blaster. 

He readies his hero shot. 

A dread all too familiar settles over him. 

She feels nothing as she pulls the trigger. 

Chapter Text

There's something familiar in her way.

... 

Forget

...

Things that are in her way must be dealt with.

She blasts it immediately. 

    It has to squid roll out of the way, and onto open ground, presenting the perfect opportunity to fire again and she takes it. 

But it isn't so easily bested. 

    Her assailant quickly rolls back to its left the moment it hits the ground, returns to its bipedal form, and fires at her.

The color of the ink is eerily familiar.

Forget

It doesn't matter. It's in her way. 

    She dodgerolls to her left, the shot just barely grazing her right hand. She clings to her blaster despite the pain and swims down the second path of ink she shot to recover. Enemy fire follows her.  

Run for now, she thinks. You can't outgun it right now.  

...

She's not sure how she knows this.

...

Forget

...

It doesn't matter. It's in her way. 

  She runs from its line of fire and shoots paths of ink directly in front of herself to swim through in an attempt to quickly reposition. She goes down the road to her left, and it follows closely behind her, keeping her on her toes with constant fire. She swims towards the shops, but it throws a splat bomb in front of her, forcing her to change directions. She runs up the stairs to her left, seeking an advantage. From the top of the steps, she turns around a opens fire towards righthand corner at the bottom of the stairs. She sees it roll out of the way, and hears the telltale *pchk* indicating a weak hit, a grimace from underneath ink, and the sound of it swimming ever so slightly out of range. 

    She waits, knowing that the moment it tries to attack from anywhere, it risks a direct hit. She'll be able to hear it move, and, when it does, she'll know exactly where to aim. Even if it throws a bomb, she can easily avoid the explosive with the space behind her and still be in position to open fire. 

She hears it move, climbing up the wall to her right.

She takes aim. 

She pulls the trigger the second she sees blue ink peak over the edge. 

....

...........

She misses. Barely. It baited her shot and retreated immediately. 

But not before throwing an autobomb. 

And then another from behind the wall.

And another from around the corner.

and another,

and another.

    Terror settles in her heart. She been in this situation before. She's barely escaped this situation before, and this time she's in an even smaller area.

    She panicks, runs forward to trigger the bombs early, and jumps down the steps she came up to avoid the explosions. Her distress is her folly as the source of the bombs grabs her by the arm from around the corner as she lands on the bottom of the steps, attempting to free the blaster from her hand. They wrestle for the weapon resulting in it pointing straight up in the air. 

"What came over me? Why do I recognize its weapons, its tactics? Why do I recognize it?" 

Forget

.

..

...

It doesn't matter. 

It's in her way. 

She notices that, despite having caught her off guard and having her close enough to easily splat her, it's choosing to attempt to disarm her. 

It isn't trying to kill her. 

It must want to die. 

She pulls the trigger on the blaster and octarian ink comes raining down on them both. 

The enemy is forced to quickly let go and jump away from the ink. It slips and loses balance as it tries to get away. She takes the opportunity to fire again. 

A direct hit. Its armor breaks and sends it tumbling into the mailbox.  

She readies another shot to finish it off. 

Her ink is low, but the shot will be ready before his armor can recover.  

The shot isn't ready before it jumps high in the air. 

   She runs down the street towards her escape when she sees what's about to happen. She almost doesn't make it out in time. The splashdown ink tears into her back, and knowing she can't hope to splat it now, she runs for it. 

If she's quick, she'll make it to the grate. 

Return from whence you came. 

She uses her last shot to make a path for the grate. 

Bring the knowledge you have gained.

She has to warn Him about this threat. 

Once she's in the grate she can jump to-

........

.......... 

Blue ink swirls in front of her, obscuring her escape, and breaking the armor that's hidden under her sweater. She falls to the ground. 

When it clears she sees it: her enemy- standing on top of the grate and looking down at her with those determined eyes is her enemy. 

It keeps getting in her way. 

Those eyes keep getting in her way. 

Those stubborn gray and teal eyes.

......

Gray and Teal....

.... 

Teal 

...

She recognizes that teal. 

Forget

....

She can't 

Forget

She can't obey that order

Forget 

She can't forget the teal.

Forget

The teal ink

Forget

The teal bomb 

Forget

The teal conductor 

Forget

The teal commander 

Forget

The teal canon 

FORGET

His Teal Eyes. 

.... 

Forget

....

She hesitates. 

Forget

She disobeys. 

Forget

She remembers for a moment.....

...and She's scared, so, so scared. 

     She didn't truly leave the metro, did she? She never made it out. How could she delude herself into thinking that when he's in front of her with that sickening teal ink still attached to him. She's failed. She's failed her mission. She couldn't stop him. She can't escape. She will never be free. All of Inkopolis is doomed and it's her fault. 

It's all her fault. 

She's frozen in place, staring somewhere in front of herself with eyes that refuse to see. 

She doesn't notice him walking up to her. 

She doesn't sense him kneel down in front of her.

She doesn't feel him pull the blaster out of her hand, and the ink tank off her back, and throw it to the wayside. 

She doesn't see his confusion morphing into understanding, and then pity. 

She doesn't comprehend what he says when his mouth moves. 

He's speaking a language she can't hope to understand, a language that sounds like something out of a dream.  

She was ordered to Wake from the dream. 

To wake and Forget 

....

Maybe she should Forget 

It's less painful that way. 

....

...

..

.

.

.

He's her enemy.

He's in her way. 

He stays that way. 

She lets him stay that way. She can't fight without her blaster or bombs. There's no point in struggling. 

He's saying something. It looks like he's repeating a word over and over again. It's in the language she can't understand, but the sound of it is familiar. 

"....Fissure." 

......

..... 

..

. 

    She wonders what it means before her mind fixates on her orders; before she forgets everything but her monarch's song.